Subject 18
by YoursTruly96
Summary: Desmond is dead. Juno's assimilation is imminent. What does the world do when such a crisis is so near them? Appearances occur later on in the story.


**A/N: Hey guys! This is the first fanfic that I post on this site, so be kind in your judgments on it, alright? I would appreciate the chance of a review or two, as it is my goal to reply to every legitimate issue brought to my attention. Either way, hope you enjoy the read!**

"Do you know why you are here, Subject?"

So that's what they had resorted to calling him. Not by his name, not by a number…just 'Subject' now. It was rather degrading for him, but, of course, he was used to _that_ by now. His routine had hastily devolved into the same process day after day, a mundane schedule that drove him utterly mad. These questions didn't help his mind out in the almost monotonic slog of his life.

"Yes. I do." He glared up at the man who sat across from him, the _doctor_ who sat across a gleaming metal table in a room of white walls. The only break in the static color was one large black window, which no doubt was one-way, hiding even more of the disgusting creatures who _dared_ to call themselves _esteemed doctors_.

"Can you tell me why?" As always, this man's voice was crisp, to the point. Not once did he ever stutter, even to blatant threats to his well-being that he _knew _his patient could carry out had they not restrained his hands and legs to the metal chair he was seated in. The man being interviewed smiles a very rebellious smile toward the doctor, not answering him. With a wave of the hand, a signal was sent out through the glass to the technician, who immediately pressed in a small red button on the console before him.

Instantaneously, the man writhed in pain cause by a seemingly invisible force. His eyes were shut tight, and a silent macabre scream left his lips as agony hit his nerve cells all at once. The doctor across from him eyed the scene with disinterest before waving again, the pain suddenly stopping and the man slumping forward.

"_That_ is the sensation of a Taser being used on you, albeit in a much more safe and restricted manner." The doctor looked back down to his file of the man. He knew the answer to every asked question before it was asked, and the man across him knew this.

"What is your name?"

The man lazily lifted his head up toward the alpha of the situation, speaking to the doctor in a subtle Italian accent. "Jason."

The doctor looked up to Jason and glared a bit. "Your _full_ name."

"Jason Agrioli." He cocks his head to the side a bit. "Want my father's name, and my brother's?" He laughs a bit.

"No. We have all of that on file." The doctor taps the file before leaning forward. "I'll repeat my earlier question. Can you tell me _why_ you find yourself here?"

Jason simply gazed at the man. "Because I am an Assassin?"

The doctor nodded, and intertwined his hands together. "That is one reason, yes. Another is that you have a bloodline of Assassins, dating all the way back to the Renaissance. Our goal is to find out what we can from your ancestors." The doctor leaned back in his chair, making perfect eye contact with his companion in the room.

Jason sighed, hanging his head down slightly in annoyance. He knew this. His bloodline wasn't as pinnacle as that of Desmond Miles' was, but it was still littered with ancestors of Assassins, who were fighting the Templars to this very day. He then looked back up to the doctor. "So, you going to do to me what you did to Clay and Desmond? Try and keep me here until my brains are a pool of grey liquid? Stick me in that machine…that _Animus_ until I rot?"

"Subject 16 and 17 were, respectively, a failure and a disappointment. They revealed what we wanted, but 16 died before we could collect enough information and 17 escaped before we could drug him enough to stay." The doctor sighed at remembering such failures, but shook himself out of it. "Besides, your ultimate goal as a subject of Abstergo is not a search for a Piece of Eden or a training session to become an agent of our own." The doctor releases a small chuckle before finishing his point. "Oh no, you, sir, will help us weed out one of your own Order."

Jason chuckles at the sudden exposition of their goal. "I fail to see how looking at my ancestry through that abomination of machinery will help you find one of my Order."

"We have our ways." The doctor finishes their little chat with that statement and, standing, leaves the interrogation room to have the guards handle the subject.


End file.
